


Buttercream Butterflies and Runaway Bridesmaids

by And_Dream_Of_Erebor



Category: Miranda (TV)
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s), Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/And_Dream_Of_Erebor/pseuds/And_Dream_Of_Erebor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend of Miranda's from boarding school is getting married and has asked Miranda to be one of the bridesmaids. Gary is in charge of the catering at the wedding reception. All Miranda has to do is: take care not to start singing in an inappropriate moment, and try not to lose any clothes in church. How hard can that be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buttercream Butterflies and Runaway Bridesmaids

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sphinxvictorian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphinxvictorian/gifts).



“Guess what, Queen Kong?“ Tilly had said on the phone, breathless with excitement, before Miranda even had the chance to say hello. “I have important newsingtons! I bring tidings of great joy! Remember…”

“Slow down, Tilly! You haven’t even asked if I had time to hear your newsingtons right now. I was, as a matter of fact, in the middle of an important business meeting with Stevie,” Miranda replied in a dignified manner. She was clutching the plastic pirate cutlass she had been using to fight a duel with Stevie, who was armed with a somewhat rudely shaped wizard’s staff. Still, both the cutlass and the staff were from a range of new stock for the joke shop that had arrived the day before, so what they were doing could truthfully be called a business meeting. Quality control: that was what it was.

“Muchos apologies,” Tilly said, but she continued immediately, without a second's pause. “As I was saying, remember ‘Miffy’ Protheroe from school? Tall, curly hair, good at maths, once stuffed Jen’s boots with cotton candy? Well, she just gave me a call. She would like to meet us – you and me, and Bunty and Stinky – for lunch tomorrow. Isn't that marvilissimos?”

“I could do that,” Miranda said without much enthusiasm, but then she had a thought that brightened her up. “Oh!  We could meet at Gary’s. He has the best food!” Tilly had no objection to this.

* * *

 

A day later, Miranda was getting ready for lunch with the girls, feeling slightly uneasy. The last time she had had lunch with friends from boarding school, it did not end well. It ended, in fact, with Miranda making a full circle on the conveyor belt in a sushi restaurant – but these things were better not dwelled upon.

She went downstairs and asked Stevie: “How do I look?”

“Let’s see." Stevie crossed her arms and gave Miranda a scrutinising look."Hair: fine. Shoes: clean. Socks: well done, almost matching. Let me see your teeth! Good. You look acceptable. Ready for your finishing touch?”

“I’m ready, Ma’am! “ Miranda said and saluted. “Febreze me!”

She felt reasonably confident as she walked the short distance to Gary’s restaurant in a cloud of Moonlit Lavender scent. All the girls were already there, except for Miffy who arrived a little bit late, as befits the star of the show. Before anyone had a chance to say anything, she lifted up her hand to show a sparkling diamond ring.

“Oh, Miffy! Good newsingtons, I gather?” Tilly said.

“Yes! I’m getting married in September,” Miffy said. “His name is Andy, and he’s a merchant banker! We met last summer, and it’s actually the most hilarious story…”

As she launched into the story of her first meeting with her fiancée, which involved a poodle, a moped and a French policeman, Miranda discreetly got up and went to talk to Gary, who was chopping some fresh herbs behind the bar.

“Having fun?” He asked.

“No! I’m not having fun! Miffy is getting married, and any minute now she’s going to ask me when I’m going to get married and I'll have to say that I'm not. Or, even worse, she’s going to ask me to be a bridesmaid!”

Gary looked at her without comprehension. “Is that so bad?”

“Is that so bad?! You must be joking, Gary. First, you have to wear a really hideous dress. Second, everyone keeps asking you…”

She was interrupted by a shout from Tilly:

“Queen Kong! Come back _sur la table_ , Miffy has an announcement to make! ”

“Miranda. It’s Miranda,” Miranda muttered to herself and returned to the table with a sense of foreboding.

“Sit, Queen Kong! I have something to ask of all of you!” Miffy looked at the four faces wide-eyed with expectation. “I want all of you to be my bridesmaids!”

“Oh, how lovely! Thanks!” Tilly, Bunty and Stinky squeaked. Miranda just looked at Gary and mouthed: “Help!”

Gary shrugged and made an apologetic face. Of course, there was nothing he could do about it.

“Listen, Miffy, I don’t think I should be a bridesmaid,” Miranda said, hoping she’d be able to come up with an excuse.

“That’s true, she really shouldn't!” Tilly said. “She will do something really horibillos, like show up nudulent, or set the church on fire.”

“Thanks a lot, Tilly,” Miranda said, feeling a little hurt.

“Is that so?” Miffy said and frowned. Then she brightened up again. “I know! I’ll ask Biffy instead.”

Everyone seemed to agree that this was a good idea, and soon they were so immersed in discussing the details of the ceremony they didn’t even notice when Miranda got up and sought refuge with Gary again.

“You look upset,” Gary said. “Glass of wine on the house?”

“Yes, please!”

Gary handed her a glass of wine and she downed it in one.

“What is it? Are they being so awful to you?” he asked.

“Oh, Gary! She doesn't want me as a bridesmaid!”

Gary seemed confused. “But… You just said you didn't want to be one. Isn't this what you wanted?”

“Yes! I mean, no! I didn't want to be a bridesmaid, but I didn't want Miffy not to want me to be one! Oh, it’s all so confusing! May I have some more wine? And a slice of cake?”

“Sure!” Gary said and cut an extra big slice of cake for her. He was silent for a moment, and then he asked in a very cautious voice:

“Listen, Miranda, would you mind a lot if I offered to do the catering for her wedding? It would be good for business, and… you’re still going to be there as a guest, aren't you?”

“Yes, I'm going to be there! Do ask her, that would be great!” Miranda said eagerly. With Gary there, the day might not be completely unbearable.

* * *

 

Two weeks before the wedding, Gary hired a couple of assistants to help him prepare the food for the wedding. Although it was early to start preparing the actual food -- it was going to be prepared the last day, from fresh ingredients -- Gary wanted them to rehearse some of the more difficult tasks, such as carving radishes and melons and making chocolate curls. Miranda would drop by at the restaurant every day, because all the practice-food needed to be disposed of, a task she kindly offered to help with, and because the sight of Gary walking around in his white apron and ordering people around was unbelievably sexy.

Then, ten days before the wedding, came the strike of doom.

Tilly called and informed her, in a very agitated voice, that Biffy had twisted her ankle falling over a King Charles Spaniel, and Miffy had no time to ask this personally because she had an important meeting with her wedding planner to ensure the fabric of the tablecloths matched the fabric of the musicians’ shirts, but could Miranda be her bridesmaid after all?

In a rush of panic, Miranda tried to think of a good excuse, but every single one that came to mind was useless (although she thought “I have to practice being the hindquarters of a pantomime elephant for the Royal Variety Show” had some potential and should be memorised for later use). There was no way out of it: she had to accept.

The ten days that followed were hectic. First and foremost, there was urgent tailoring to be done. The dress made for Biffy was too small for Miranda and another one had to be made; having decided that, the tailor - Miss Conti - nervously told her assistant that they needed to order a new bale of fabric, and then she stepped away from Miranda, inspected her from head to toe with a frown and said, “Better make that two bales, actually.” Rude!

When the dress was finally finished, Miranda wasn't happy about it. Miffy thought the yellow chiffon of the bridesmaids’ dresses would put people in mind of golden autumn leaves. Miranda thought it made her look like a massive slice of lemon cake.

Miranda’s mum wasn't a huge help either. She burst into the joke shop one afternoon and started talking before Miranda had the chance to speak.

“Darling, I hope you do realise I’m going to be at Clarissa Protheroe’s wedding too. Please, whatever you do, don’t start singing during the service, and do try not to lose any clothes in the church – oh, but just in case you do end up losing them, wear your best underwear. If you embarrass me in front of the Protheroes they will never shut up about it. Ghastly people!”

“Why are you going to their daughter’s wedding if you don’t like them?”

 “I have to. They are friends of mine,” her mother said unhappily. “Now, Miranda, do remember: this year’s posh laugh is based on _Wrecking Ball_ by Miley Cyrus. Ha-ha-ha-ha haaaaa-ha-haaaa…”

* * *

 

By and large, it was a miserable week and a half, and Miranda’s frequent visits to Gary seemed like the only bright spot. The day before the wedding she dropped by again and found him leaning over one of the impeccably clean kitchen counters, working on something that looked like white and silver jewellery.

“Ooh, what are you doing?” she asked. “Looks pretty!”

“Does it?” Gary beamed. “They are marzipan medallions for the wedding cake. I’m decorating them with the intertwined initials C and R, for Clarissa and Richard. I’m experimenting to see if they look better engraved or embossed.”

“Intertwined initials,” Miranda repeated somewhat absent-mindedly, partly because she liked the sound of the words and partly because she didn't know what else to say. The sight of Gary, all white-aproned and deeply concentrated, holding that piping tube as if it were a surgical knife, was very distracting.

“Hey, would you like to try your hand at decorating some cupcakes?” he asked her. “That batch over there needs to be decorated with white buttercream butterflies.”

Buttercream butterflies: another lovely-sounding pair of words! Miranda accepted the piping bag gladly and went over to the other kitchen counter, which was full of pristine, undecorated cupcakes. However, the task was more difficult than she had expected it to be, and she soon got distracted by thoughts of the white marzipan medallions Gary was decorating.

“Intertwined initials,” she said to herself and, before she realised what she was doing, wrote an M intertwined with a G on one of the cupcakes. Then another one, and another one…  A few cupcakes later she was already lost in a daydream that featured wedding bells, a carriage with white horses and a really enormous cake. She snapped out of it when she heard Gary's voice, only to find that she had piped butterflies on only four of the cupcakes, while twenty-two had the intertwined initials M and G.

“How’s it going?” Gary was asking, walking over to her.

In a rush of panic, Miranda squeezed the remaining buttercream haphazardly over the cupcakes, and then she grabbed a handful of hundreds and thousands and a bunch of candied rose petals and threw them all on top. It made the cupcakes – and, in fact, the whole kitchen counter – look like a mess, but at least the M’s and the G’s were concealed.

“They look… interesting,” Gary said, doing his best to suppress a smile. 

Miranda tried to look as serious as possible when she replied:

“Yes, it’s a slightly unique vision of butterflies. Very artistic. Not to everyone’s taste, perhaps.”

Gary said nothing. He was examining the cupcakes with solemn eyes, but his lips twitched a little bit more towards a smile.

“Oh, Gary, I’m so sorry!” Miranda said, suddenly feeling too guilty to go on about her artistic vision. “I ruined them, and the wedding is tomorrow! Can they be fixed if we scrape the buttercream off and pipe it back on, perhaps? I’ll stay and help you do it.”

Gary placed his hand on her arm and said: “Hey, that’s all right. These are not actually for the wedding anyway. It’s a lesser batch. The replacement ones are already in the oven.”

“Oh, Gary, that’s such a relief… Wait! You only asked me to decorate them because they were a lesser batch and didn't really matter? Rude!”

Gary gave her an apologetic look. Miranda tried not to let those brown puppy-dog eyes make her forget her anger, but then she remembered a much more pressing matter.

“If they’re not actually for the wedding, may I eat some of them?”

“Sure, have as many as you like,” Gary said.

Miranda took a cupcake. It was delicious – she couldn't understand why Gary wasn't satisfied. She took another, then another, and finally picked up the whole tray and carried them home.

* * *

 

The morning of Miffy’s wedding day came. While Miranda was packing the yellow chiffon dress, trying not to make any creases, there was a knock on her bedroom door. It was Stevie, holding her Heather Small cardboard cutout.

“Miss Heather Small has something to say to you, Miranda! What is it, Heather?” She tilted the cardboard cutout towards Miranda and sang in an impressively deep voice:

_“You've got to search for the hero inside yourself_  
 _Search for the secrets you hide…”_

Switching back to her own voice, she said, “You can do it, Miranda!”

Honking was heard from outside. Tilly and the other bridesmaids were waiting in the car. Miranda said, “Thank you, Miss Heather Small! I’m not in the mood to talk to you every day, but today you were very helpful.” She grabbed her bag and ran downstairs.

* * *

The village of Tinkleton Parva, where the Protheroes lived, was very picturesque and Miranda would have enjoyed it, had she not been dreading something would go wrong during the service. The bridesmaids got a room in the Protheroes’ house to use as their dressing room. Having put on the dress and allowed Stinky to do her make-up, Miranda looked out onto the lawn. She was instantly reminded that not everything about that day was bad: Gary was already there, looking as calm and competent as ever, overseeing the setting of the tables. 

The bridesmaids got into the car again, and as Stinky drove them the short distance to the parish church, over the High Street and past an apple orchard, Miranda wondered if the passers-by were confused by giggling flurry of yellow chiffon that just drove past them.

At first it looked as if everything was going rather well. Miranda walked into the beautiful old church along with the other bridesmaids, following the bride and her father. She didn't trip up and fall at the entrance; her yellow dress didn't get caught on a rogue nail sticking out of the pews and ripped off, exposing her (best, just in case) underwear. Two dangers successfully averted!

“That went rather well,” she thought when they reached the altar. She felt rather relaxed when the vicar, a kindly white-haired gentleman, started the ceremony.

“Dearly beloved…”

Perhaps she felt just a little bit too relaxed, because not before long she closed her eyes and found herself in a different reality: she was standing in the same lovely old church, in front of the same vicar, but she was the bride and the bridegroom was – of course! – Gary.

So strong and vivid was this image, she didn't hesitate for a second when she heard the words:

 “… lawful wedded husband?”

“I do!” she said. It was only when she heard an appalled “Queen Kong!” that she opened her eyes and realised that she had spoken out loud. The bride was giving her a murderous look, the bridegroom and the vicar seemed confused, and the whole congregation was in horrified silence.

“What are you doing, Queen Kong? I’m the one who is marrying Richard, not you!” Miffy said.

“Oh, I don’t want to marry Richard!” Miranda said quickly. “Nothing could be further from my mind! Yuckity-yuck! The very thought disgusts me!” The look on the bridegroom’s face suggested that she might have gone just a little bit too far with her disclaimers.

“Why did you say _I do_ then?” Miffy asked in a shaky voice.

“I didn't! No, why would I say that? I said… um… _My boob!_ ”

She realised as soon as the words left her lips that they didn't actually make matters any better. The church was silent for an excruciating two seconds. Then the vicar raised his eyebrows and repeated cautiously:  “My boob?”

“Yes!” Miranda’s brain was frantically searching for an innocent explanation. “Because, you see, I felt this sudden, horrible pain. A fly stung me in the boob! It was horrible! I might have caught some horrible disease, like sleeping sickness. Or the plague!”

This speech was met by nothing but appalled looks and dead silence. Miranda found this impossible to bear, so she repeated once again:

“I just said _My booob_. Funny word, isn't it? Boob. BOOOOOOOB!”

A familiar voice spoke loudly and clearly from the pews:

“I HAVE NO IDEA WHO THIS WOMAN IS. SHE CERTAINLY ISN'T MY DAUGHTER! Ha-ha-ha-ha haaaaa-ha-haaaa…”

This was the last straw. Miranda turned around and ran out of the church.

* * *

 

She ran past the apple orchard, past the village post office where an elderly couple blinked in confusion at the cloud of yellow chiffon that dashed past them (“I say, Louisa, what was that thing that just ran past us?” “I don’t know, dear. Looks like a massive piece of lemon cake.”) and into the Protheroes’ garden, where she nearly collided with Gary.

"Miranda! What is it?" He asked. 

It took her a minute or two to catch her breath, and then, on the verge of tears, she blurted out: “Oh, Gary, I messed it up! They are going to kill me!”

“Why would they want to kill you?” 

“I said _I do!_ And then I said I’d meant to say _My boob_ , and that only made it worse! Oh God, I want to die!”

Gary laughed. “Come on, Miranda, they are not going to kill you because of that! Wait… Why did you say _I do_?”

Was that a hint of jealousy in his voice? Miranda hastened to answer:

“Oh, it was completely by accident! I was just imagining that you…” She suddenly blushed. “Never mind! I need to get away! Or hide. I need to hide.”

Gary tried to point out that no one was running after her, but she refused to listen. She surveyed her surroundings. There was only one hiding place in sight: the table in the marquee, its tablecloth reaching down to the ground. She got down on all fours,  scrambled under the table, carefully gathered the hems of her yellow dress to ensure it wouldn't stick out from under the tablecloth, and sat down, wrapping her arms around her legs to make herself smaller.

“This must be the most miserable moment of my life,” she thought.

A hand lifted up the tablecloth in front of her, and Gary’s concerned face peeked under it.

“Are you really going to spend the whole wedding reception down there?”

“Of course I am! Have you got a better idea?”

Gary was silent.

“Didn't think so,” she said, aware that she was sulking like a child. Gary went away, and she felt, if possible, even worse.  What was she doing, snapping at Gary like that? What happened was not his fault. She had no one but herself to blame.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, wallowing in misery (it felt like eight months, but a minute and a half would probably have been a fairer estimate) when the tablecloth was raised again, and Gary scrambled down under the table, carefully balancing two glasses in his hand, and sat down next to her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I thought you could use some company. And a drink,” he said. He handed her one of the glasses. It was something sweet and strong, probably meant to be sipped slowly, but Miranda downed it in two large gulps.

“Thanks, Gary,” She said. Gary took a sip of his drink, watching her with a concerned expression.

“Don’t you have to be out there when the guests arrive?” she asked.

Gary shook his head. “No, not really. I was only going to supervise the waiters, and they’re very professional. They’ll do just fine without me. And, besides…”

“…Yes?” Miranda said when he hesitated.

“And, besides, even if I had important work to do, I can’t just let you sit down here all alone, can I? I was worried about you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Gary!” Miranda felt a sudden warmth in her cheeks and thought the day was turning out not to be so bad after all. “But, listen, you really should get up there and wait for the wedding party to arrive. Your future career in catering may depend on it!”

“Never mind that,” he said. “Speaking of my future career, there’s something I wanted to show you. I invented a new cake yesterday, and it’s thanks to you!”

“Thanks to me? But how?”

“You know how you told me you hated your bridesmaid’s dress because you felt like a massive lemon cake? Well, I sort of liked the image, and I invented a new lemon cake recipe. With your permission, I’d like to name it _Miranda cake_.”

He handed her a white cardboard box he had been holding. Miranda opened it; inside was the most beautiful slice of cake she had ever seen, the exact same shade of yellow as her bridesmaid’s dress, smelling deliciously of lemon zest, vanilla and fresh cream.

“Miranda cake! Oh, Gary, this is the sweetest thing anyone ever did for me!” A second late she added: “May I eat it?”

Gary grinned. “I would have been disappointed if you didn't. Wait, I’ll fetch you a dessert spoon.”

He slipped out from under the table, and returned just as a murmur of many voices was heard coming closer.

“Oh God. they are coming, aren't they?”

“Yes,” Gary said. “We must be very quiet. Go on, try the cake! I can’t wait to hear how if like it.”

“Mmm, itshdelishes,” Miranda mumbled with her mouth full. It was, indeed, the best cake she had ever tasted.

The voices of the wedding party were now clearly audible. To Miranda’s surprise, they sounded quite happy rather than, as she had expected, like an angry mob looking for a runaway bridesmaid in order to flay her alive.

Most unexpectedly, she could hear her mother’s voice saying: “I have to look for my dear daughter. I do hope she is all right. She had what I call a medical emergency.”

“She doesn't want to disown me!” Miranda whispered to Gary. “What happened?”

“I don't know. You have some whipped cream on your cheek,” Gary whispered back.

“Where?”

“Here,” Gary said and touched Miranda’s cheek with his fingers. He lingered in that position for a moment, then they both closed their eyes and leaned in for a kiss. Miranda wasn't sure how much time had passed when they were interrupted by a mild voice saying, “Hello!”

Miranda and Gary pulled away from one another so quickly, it was only by pure luck they didn't pull the whole table down. The tablecloth in front of them was being held up, and a friendly white-haired face was peeking underneath it. Miranda recognised it and flushed with embarrassment.

“ Oh, hello, your Maj—your Holl—Mr Vicar! Please don’t tell anyone I’m here! I’m so sorry I ruined the ceremony for everyone,” Miranda said.

“Oh, no, you didn't ruin the ceremony. Everyone thought it was wonderful,” the vicar said.

“But… I said _boooob_! Repeatedly! How could they think it was wonderful?”

The vicar’s eyes twinkled. “Well, you see, after you ran out of the church, I told the congregation I believed that the charming young lady had a serious medical emergency, and that she was right to leave immediately, and possibly seek medical attention.”

“Charming young lady!” Miranda said. “Did you hear that, Gary? I’m charming! And young! And a lady!”

The vicar continued, “And then I said that your little problem reminded me of Our Lord’s parable of the fly that bit the hermit, and inspired by that, I gave a short impromptu speech about marital bliss. At the end they all had tears in their eyes, if I do say so myself.”

“You are amazing, your Holliness!” Miranda said.

Gary was watching the vicar thoughtfully. “I don’t remember a parable about a fly and a hermit in the Bible.”

The vicar’s eyes twinkled again. “True. The parable itself might have come from my imagination, rather than from the Scriptures. But it’s the spirit that counts, isn’t it?”

“Of course!” Miranda and Gary answered in unison.

“Will you be all right down there? Shall I get you something to eat?” the vicar asked.

“No, thank you, your Excellency!” Miranda said. “I think I might actually try and do the grown-up thing. You know, get out of here, apologise to the bride and groom. After that I might even try and mingle. Such fun!”

“See you, then,” the vicar said and left. After a few moments of stunned silence, Miranda said: “He is amazing, isn't he?”

“He is!” Gary said. “I want him to perform the service when we get… I mean, if we…” He blushed. Miranda could feel her cheeks go red as well, and she said: “Yeah, me too. When we… Yes, absolutely.”

The day was really turning out not to be the worst day in her life after all.


End file.
